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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29923356">easy.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/smellbig/pseuds/smellbig'>smellbig</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Orphan Black (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Post-Canon, i guess its a bit of a relationship study, its basically pg13 i think, ive just been thinking bout them tbh, just a little bit of smut like not too much, pre audio series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:20:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29923356</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/smellbig/pseuds/smellbig</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She has always been easy, but maybe that’s not the right word - easy makes it sound simple, unfulfilling, but our love has never been that. </p><p>No, she’s easy like familiar, like coming home and walking distractedly through dimly lit halls to the bedroom, like I’ve known her all my life, easy like the way she came unraveled beneath me even that first time, and I knew.</p><p>-</p><p>Or, my roommate and I have been re-watching Orphan Black and I feel the need to elaborate a little bit on their life right after season 5.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Delphine Cormier/Cosima Niehaus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>easy.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i can't believe i've never written for orphan black before. anyways this is a bit of a character/relationship study, i wrote it this morning and did a cursory re-read so let me know if there's any mistakes. i just wanted to elaborate on their life immediately after season 5, before the audio series. i hope you enjoy &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She has always been easy, but maybe that’s not the right word - <em> easy </em> makes it sound simple, unfulfilling, but our love has never been that. </p><p>No, she’s easy like familiar, like coming home and walking distractedly through dimly lit halls to the bedroom, like I’ve known her all my life, easy like the way she came unraveled beneath me even that first time, and I knew.</p><p>Easy like now, as she grasps at my ass panting, I can lean back smiling and taking her in and it’s never all been easy, with Neolution and DYAD and feeling constantly watched. We both know what was sacrificed, what was right and what was wrong, what she did for me and for the <em> sestras </em> when no one else could. We both know, and that’s why it is so easy to fall back into her arms once again, to watch her unravel again, again.</p>
<hr/><p>“Delphine,” I murmur, and she’s tracing helixes on the small of my back, slicked in sweat, and I know she feels my heart beating as we lay together in our highrise, the apartment just outside of downtown that’s probably a little too expensive for just us but she insists on it, and I can only comply. </p><p>“Yes, <em> ma chérie</em>?” she breathes, and I kiss at her jaw, just slightly. I am too tired to make love again, she knows, but I love her all the same.</p><p>The words hitch in my throat, but I’m not sure why. I know I mean it, I only ever say what I mean, even if it hurts. Her eyes are clouded when they lock with mine - she is tired, too - and she moves a finger to push away the dreads from in front of my face. It’s enough. “I want to marry you,” I say, and she nods.</p><p>“I want to marry you, too, <em> Cosima</em>,” and she says it like she always does, three full syllables of my name like a verse to a poem, and if I wasn’t half asleep I would have taken her then, once more. “Sleep for now, yes?”</p><p>I nod, gathering more of her in my arms, and she is surrounding me, my everything, and it is quite easy, I think, but that’s not a bad thing.</p>
<hr/><p>She awakes before me, as always, and I hear her in the other room humming. She’s turning on the coffee pot, stirring eggs on a frying pan, listening to classical music through the old stereo she insisted on buying. It’s wonderful.</p><p>I think about getting up, I really do, but another thing she had insisted on was a comfy mattress, and right now I am truly enjoying it. Rolling onto my back I call for her, and she pokes her head into the bedroom, apologizing for leaving my side. “It’ll be just a minute, they’re almost done,” she explains. “<em>Je suis désolé.</em>”</p><p>She knows her French makes me weak, especially when it’s an accident. Sometimes it will be late at night, far too late for us to be up with work early the next morning, but she’ll ask for me with her eyes and I can only give. It’s a mistake on her part, unintentional, but she’ll slip into French, gasping out “<em>embrasse-moi</em>, Cosima,” or “<em>oh mon dieu, juste là</em>,” and that’s encouragement enough to keep me going. I love when she speaks French, comes undone beneath me, when I can make her lose her mind so much she doesn’t know what she’s saying. That’s when I am happiest.</p><p>Now she’s settling beside me, holding out one of two plates of scrambled eggs. “No need to apologize,” I tell her, placing a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.”</p><p>Her plate has cheese, mine has ketchup, and we enjoy it wordlessly. I’m so thankful it’s Saturday. I don’t have to be anywhere but here, with her.</p><p>“Did you mean it?” she asks suddenly, and I look over confused. I expect her to be looking back, with those intense brown eyes that read my every thought, but no, she’s poking at her eggs. It’s not like her.</p><p>“Mean what?” I broach, chewing slowly. She’s doubting herself, a rare sight.</p><p>Shifting on the bed, I take her plate in my empty hand and place both on the nightstand. My hand traces her collarbone, and I use my index finger to push her chin up to meet my eyes. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“<em>Je t'aime</em>,” she whispers, and I lean forward, taking her lips in mine. She locks her fingers together behind my neck and I bring my hands up to her face, holding her steady. When she pulls back her forehead rests against mine and her fingers, never still, dance across the nape of my neck, pulling at the baby hairs. “You want to get married?”</p><p><em> Oh </em>, I think, and it makes sense. She’s nervous, that maybe I was too tired, wasn’t thinking, was half asleep. I was, but I still meant it. “Of course, if that’s what you want.”</p><p>Delphine makes the first move this time, pulling me down on top of her and I realize then that she had put on a nightgown to go to the kitchen, where the large bay windows look out on Toronto. The garment is sheer and thin but it’s still too much between us, as I am naked and she is far too clothed. I grab at the hem with fervor, her eyes hazy and it’s easy, once again, and I imagine what she will look like at our wedding.</p>
<hr/><p>She wants simple and that is okay with me. We have a quiet ceremony in Alison’s backyard with the <em>s</em><em>estras</em>, Art, Felix, others. I know she’s itching to get out, to get on our flight to Paris, but I grab her hand to ground her. We have time, we have all of the time in the world, now.</p><p>Even so the evening passes slowly, as everyone shares stories and toasts to us, and even as we are dragged apart I feel her eyes tracing me and I look to her for comfort, and it never feels as though we are apart at all.</p><p>At 8 o’clock, she pulls me aside, and I can’t help but be confused. We have until 9 to leave, to gather our suitcases and head to the airport before our flight, but she’s giving me a look, asking for me to go along with her plan. She amazes me every day, her depths and the passion within her, and so I nod.</p><p>We leave hastily, thanking everyone for coming to celebrate with us, and she already has an Uber waiting out front. Our suitcases are packed, waiting by the front door, and she urges me forward as we leave.</p><p>“What’s going on?” I ask, as the driver stows our luggage and we slide into the backseat. She grabs my left hand, rubbing her fingers across the simple silver band she had slipped on me just hours ago. I know she does not like PDA, she’s shy, she’s a private person. It used to hurt me, years ago, thinking that it meant she didn’t like me, didn’t want to show me off, that she was embarrassed to be queer. Now that seems so childish, as when we are together she has eyes only for me, she teases me with her hands traveling up my thighs, she watches me with everything within her. She even loves to hold hands in public now, something so simple, yet such a jump for her. It’s enough for me if it is for her, it is just easy.</p><p>But that is why I am so surprised when she leans in to kiss me, deeply, even as our driver looks back as he starts to back the car out of Alison’s driveway. I lay my hands on her shoulders, pulling back a bit, giving her a look. She tastes like wine against my lips, like the glass of Bordeaux we had shared earlier. I didn’t think she had had that much, and her eyes, clear and wide tell me I am right. She isn't drunk, she is barely tipsy. This is just Delphine, surprising as always.</p><p>“I couldn’t wait,” she replies finally, honestly, her fingers resuming their curious travels across my wedding ring. “I, Cosima…” she trails off, her breath hot against my cheek. I shudder at the thought of it, and she reaches to turn my ear to her lips. “<em>Je dois t'avoir</em>.”</p><p>“Fuck,” I say, and it comes out maybe just a little too loud for what she likes. I am thinking of her boundaries, how she likes to show me off but only up to a point in public, I’m thinking of the driver just two feet away, what he thinks of us, of the twenty minute ride back to the high rise from Scarborough, and I’m thinking just a little too much, I think, but she smells so sweet beside me, and I realize then she’s still in her wedding dress, I’m still in my tux, and it makes me laugh. I take her face between my hands, feeling the warmth of her blush against my cool palms. “Okay, you can, you can have all of me, I promise.” She sucks in a breath, her eyes wild. I am alive at the sight of her, her breaking and crumbling beneath me, beside me, at just the sight of me, and she must know it because she pulls away and smooths out her dress, regaining her composure. Our pinkies link across the seat, and I love that dress that she chose, that we chose together, but I cannot wait to take it off of her.</p>
<hr/><p>We don’t have much time but it’s time enough. I use my fingers because I have to watch it happen, I have to see her lose it all, see her eyes roll back in her head as she falls apart and as she is coming back together she kisses all over my body, biting at my pulse points salaciously, and she’s so breathless and beautiful and I could almost come at the sight of her, but I need more, and she knows that without a word, and we nearly miss our flight because of it.</p>
<hr/><p>When she had suggested Paris for our honeymoon, I balked.</p><p>“You want to go home?” Of course, Lille is her home, not Paris, but she knows what I mean.</p><p>Nodding, Delphine just insists. “With you, yes,” and then she was describing all the cafés we would go to, the places she used to travel to alone and wish for someone to be with. <em> With you, with you</em>, she whispers, and I had asked for it again in French, hearing her quietly, <em>avec toi, avec toi</em>.</p><p>She had been right all along, of course, and I felt her joy radiating as day after day we walked around the city and she pointed out places where she had studied, spent time, lived in. She was so passionate about all of it, and I wondered if I could fall further in love than I already was.</p><p>But then again, we didn’t really spend much time outside the hotel room. We had booked a fancy suite which looked out on the Eiffel Tower, with an infinity pool and what Delphine had insisted was important, good room service. “We will have an appetite,” she had teased, but once again, she had been right.</p><p>She coaxes me into the pool then, already naked, and I can’t resist. “<em>Tout</em>,” she whispers against my ear, her fingers traveling downward, and I am already right there, she knows it, “Cosima, <em>tu es tout pour moi.</em>”</p><p>“God,” I murmur, bracing myself along her body, feeling her smile beneath me. Sometimes, she loses herself, and she speaks in French because I have done something to her, to make her lose her senses. But other times, she knows exactly what she’s doing, exactly what it does to me, how it makes me flip inside out. I can’t decide which side of her feels better.</p><p>Her teeth trace the helix of my ear, she’s breathing just as hard as I am, and as I begin to moan, she loses herself for real, chanting “<em>je te veux, embrasse-moi, je t'aime, ma femme</em>” until we come up for air, again and again, and never enough.</p><p>“I love you, I love you,” I say, and I feel my fingers, wet, pressed against her skin, her forehead, her cheeks, I love it. She kisses me back, letting it all take its time because we really do have forever now, and with each breath she’s saying, easy, “I know, I know, I love you, too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>let me know what you think! &lt;3<br/>find me on twitter @lgbtqsyd</p></blockquote></div></div>
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